


Stature

by lamponatable



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alien Temples (Red vs. Blue), Domestic Fluff, Dreams vs. Reality, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 07:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11596302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamponatable/pseuds/lamponatable
Summary: Locus wakes up to something he has always wanted.





	Stature

**Author's Note:**

> A quick drabble to get my writing going again. Thought I should publish it.

Locus wakes up feeling warm. There’s at least two heavy blankets piled on him and the pillow under his head must be stuffed with clouds. His limbs feel sluggish as he struggles to sitting position, way too comfortable to actually want to, but way too awake to stay down. 

The first thing that comes to him is that he recognizes the sofa he’s on. It’s the black one he keeps walking past everyday on his way to work. But he never found the time to go actually buy it, right?

The second thing is that he doesn’t recognize where he is. The high ceiling and windows are unfamiliar. Behind the glass are the glamorous lights of other high-rise buildings. A pent-suite it is, a rather hard place to escape.

Third thing is that he should recognize where he is. There’s familiar furniture everywhere: the rugs he bough for his old apartment’s cold floors, the armchair he likes to read in. Even the large painting of a naked lady that Felix uses to hide the marks of his successful knife throws is present. They are all hidden among newer looking, modern interior decor, but bring enough comfort to lower Locus’ heart rate back down. 

Where’s Felix? It should’ve been his first thought. Or shouldn’t. He can’t remember.

A quick pain strings through his head. Locus massages his temples as if it would make the hallucination melt away.

”Had a nice nap?”

Locus whips around to face the voice. However, the young man standing on an open doorway doesn’t seem like a threat. He has a blanket hanging loose over his shoulders and is wearing a green pullover that Locus recognizes as his own. The lighting behind him masks his face, but the body language is someone’s Locus could never forget. 

”Felix?”

As always, Felix’ response is a snort and sarcastic quip. ”No. I am the god delivering you your daily cup of coffee. Adore me.”

There are two green mugs in his partner’s hands, piping hot, and the smell is something strong and wonderful. Coffee sounded better than anything right now.

”You want some?” Felix asks and Locus can’t help but to nod.

As Felix comes closer from the shadow to the light, it’s obvious there’s something wrong with him, but Locus can’t quite place it.

”-And take it easy man, Wu isn’t here yet so you can drop the codenames. And I don’t think it’s the right mood for them anyway, ya’know. It just sounds so fucking formal like we haven’t know for years- Hey there, you’re staring.”

It’s the eyes, Felix’ eyes aren’t darting around the way they usually do. They are just as intense, yet don’t pierce right through. His face isn’t wrinkled from years of scowling either, and the scars he had on his hairline and neck have faded. He looks young, like fresh from his bounty hunter days, albeit a bit plumper around the edges.

It’s a good look on him. The word ’domesticated’ could apply, but this is _Felix_

”Fucking hell, just take it already.”

Locus snaps from his thoughts and accepts the mug that has been thrust towards him for a while now. It had been dangerously close to spilling, after all, he wouldn’t want to stain the new sofa.

Felix places his own on a nearby shelf and drops down on the couch, not putting his feet on the coffee table which is just as amazing as the burning sensation Locus gets from holding the cup. It feels real, this is real.

"Aren’t you going to drink it? Because if you being super slow is a thing now I might just die.”

”Yes.” The liquid is black and bitter like Locus usually drinks it, added effect being the exotic twist in the aftertaste that’s not too bad at all. ”It’s good.”

Felix rolls his eyes and mutters something about a robot; at least that hasn’t changed. Locus has no answer to it beyond silence. It should insult him, he truly feels like it should, but the pet names come up so often they have taken their own spots in their daily schedule. Hearing it now is comforting?

”You work so much it has turned you into a zombie.”

That too is a topic that comes up often.

Locus avoids replying instantly by taking another sip.”I like-”

”Yeah, you like your job. Congrats and all that shit but can’t you take a break?”

”Why do you keep insisting?”

”First, I’m bored out of my mind. Second, we got shitloads of money and-.” Halfway into the explanation Felix shifts closer until they are sitting right next to each other, lifts Locus’ mug away and unexpectedly wraps the now free arm around himself. It feels natural, they have been doing this so much it’s as if his shoulder has formed a crook for his partner to lean into, but today there’s something desperate in the way Felix clings onto him, nails deep, before continuing, ”-can’t we just go somewhere? Together? You haven’t been home a lot lately.”

 _Home._ That was what this place was called, why can’t he hear it said more often? ”I’ll consider it.”

”Great. And if you don’t mind, I made some reservations aaand they have to be paid today.”

Locus gives an unimpressed look. Felix’ smirk is present for a second, before it gets covered by Isaac’s brilliant smile, which must be the reason why Locus still bothers to fall into these obvious traps time and time again. He expects Isaac to leave him alone now that he had gotten what he wanted. 

Why does he expect that? Isaac never does that -to him. 

And the universe proves him right; Isaac climbs onto his lap, dragging one of the huge blankets with him. Locus’ hands instinctively pull him closer until his partner is safely tucked in his arms. 

”Thank you.” Isaac says suddenly. Locus wants to follow that with a ’for what’, but a pair of chapped lips quiet him

The kiss isn’t needy or violent. There’s no biting and bleeding, Isaac moves slowly against him, his eyes closed and expression serene. It’s only a few pecks before they part, but the comfortable heat lingers.

”You are such a sap.” 

Says the one who’s practically trying to bury himself against Locus’ chest. Locus still lets out a hum of agreement.

Subtly, a pair of hands have started traveling up Locus’ arms, before coming to rest on his shoulders. Locus tenses up a little, which goes unnoticed by Isaac, who leans in for another kiss just as slow as the first. It feels right, it feels wrong. There’s no reason why, but the closer his partner’s fingers get to Locus’ neck, the more the lump in his throat closes up. The wandering hands wrap around to gently stroke his back, and Locus almost loses himself to their soothing touches. But as they pull back again, a gentle finger brushes slightly over his cheek -his scar- and for a second it feels as sharp as a knife.

A flash of panic jolts through him. Isaac recoils just as fast as he does. The resulting silence drags on, both of them staring at each other in confusion. Or maybe it’s only him who is confused; Isaac has his brows knit in concern.

”It was a bad one, huh? Shit, must be the pictures.”

Pictures? Truly, on the coffee table there’s a bunch of them scattered around. Isaac scoffs at them and turns back to Locus, who still feels out of it all.

”It was dream, Sam. Just a dream. We all made it, no one died. There are no ifs.”

”Just a dream?” The missions, the protocols, _Isaac’s death_ and the ever piling number of bodies were a dream?

”Yeah, a dream.” Isaac moves closer again, and Locus doesn’t struggle as the slender fingers begin rubbing circles on his palm. ”Wanna talk about it? I can schedule an appointment with the doctor.”

”No, I’m fine.” Locus’ cuts him off.

”Sam, look, you are doing fine, I get it. Look around us, we can buy anything we fucking want. But that’s not the same thing as _being_ fine. ”

”Isaac, it’s fine. It was a dream.”

”And you’re sure about that?”

No. ”Yes.”

Isaac raises an eyebrow. It’s a warning before the storm, Isaac’s eyes darken and his mouth opens ready to spit out venom. But instead, he sights ”take your time,” before starting to get up.

Right before he’s out of reach, Locus rushes to lace their fingers together. 

”I’m fine. I mean it.” He looks straight into Isaac’s eyes, hoping that his partner will trust him. ”I have never felt better.” It’s the truth, excluding the confusion, all Locus has felt since waking up is warmth. Tugging a bit more, he somehow gets the stubborn Isaac to sit back down again. 

”Yeah, sorry alright. It’s been a while since the last time, hasn’t it? You had a nice streak going on there, robot.”

When was the last time Isaac apologized?

”But, the moment _I_ see it fit, I’m calling the doctor. I don’t want you pulling out that closing off the world shit again. ”

”Fair enough.” Locus responds even if he can’t recall what Isaac is referring to. It’s plain logical, if he’s ever unfit to make decisions concerning his own health, he would trust no one else than Isaac to make them for him. He still wants to argue what can be classified as closing off, but a piercing sound of a doorbell makes him almost topple over. Were they expecting guests? He turns to Isaac.

”Today is your birthday. Now, I can say you ate some bad food and will hold a bigger compensation party when you can, but that’s probably Wu and he’s not going to bite easily. You’d have to make it up for me.”

Right. Locus might not feel like socializing, but he and Isaac have put a lot of effort and money on the clean up and food. Some guests were coming from a few planets over and they would never find a better date than today. Too late to cancel.

”And who would I blame for the bad food then?”

”Oh fuck you, you’re getting your party then.”

Isaac tries to get up again, but Locus yanks him back down. The kiss was meant to be hasty, but it keeps on going and going, like they are both challenging the other to lose their nerve and respond to the bell that rings for the second time.

During the third ring Isaac pushes him to lie down and climbs on top of him. It feels impossible to let go, to not run his hands along his partner’s sides and inside his huge pullover. It doesn’t help that Isaac is slowly grinding on him and the sighs he breaths against Locus’ mouth are full of hunger and so lovely in nature they melt him on the spot. He’s aching to touch every spot he knows will drive the other mad with want, and it has been ages since the last time they made out like this. Isaac lets out a groan as Locus moves to work on his neck.

The more impatient fourth ring finally gets them to part. Forever a sore loser, Isaac pulls away muttering something inaudible.

”What?” Locus asks, too groggy to stop Isaac from leaving this time.

”I love you. Now drink up or you will scare someone with your robot act.” Isaac grins at him, genuine and bright, before turning to walk to the hall where the door ringer has settled upon trying to break in by force. ”Coming! You kick down the door you pay for it for fuck’s sake!”

”I love you too.” There’s a cooling spot where Isaac was, but it’s all right. They will have all the time in the world after the party. Right now, he has to honor Isaac’s wish and he goes for his cup, only to find it spilled over the table. The TV remote and the photographs are in need of an immediate rescue operation.

He throws the remote on the couch and starts with the photos that are still salvageable. All pictures are about him. Of him at work, one has him being drunk in the local bar, a few photos of him and Isaac hiking and hunting on exotic planets. The photos are nothing out the ordinary, the memories come and fade. 

Then Locus gets to the oldest ones. It’s him, with UNSC’s tan-green gear, standing between two other soldiers who Locus feels like he should recognize. They have MREs in hands and seem to be in the middle of a good story. Behind the card reads ’Happy Birthday!’ and it’s signed by a very familiar name which he can’t just place.

Maybe he will have Isaac remind him later. He moves on to the next one, but that too involves military, featuring a whole squad with him and Felix being on the opposite sides of the group but still there. It’s quickly put away; Locus can’t remember any names. How could he? He can’t even remember the day the picture was taken.

In the following photos there’s him fishing with a stranger, posing with strangers, shaking hands with them as Isaac occasionally pops in to provide background humour. All the cards are signed, wishing him luck on his birthday or congratulating him on his promotion or both.

Who knew he had so many friends? Locus picks up the group picture again. Bit by bit, he starts making connections between faces and names. That’s their grenadier who now owns a farm. The sharpshooter who can’t sing nor dance, but damn if she doesn’t try. The list goes on and on until his life is filled with friendly strangers.

His squad is alive, they all made it.

He’s about to begin solving the past of a man named ’David’. Only one picture of him survived the coffee and even that has a streak across the face. But Isaac jumping out of nowhere interrupts him.

”Sam!”

Locus stops trying to read the ruined card, only the words ’Good job’ were understandable anyway and its enough for him.

”Sam! Come on!”

_Sam._ Isaac keeps calling him Sam.

And so it’s Sam who rises from the couch and makes his way into the hall, where Isaac is impatiently waiting with his hands on the door latch. They share a glance, and the warmth in Sam’s chest expands a bit more.

”You ready, Sam?”

Sam nods, and always with his theatrics, Isaac opens the door with a grand maneuver and lets in a torrent of white light. Sam shields his eyes in order to make out who the approaching silhouettes are. Even then, he doesn’t quite believe it.

”Happy Birthday!” Megan cheers as she and Mason step inside. 

Sam forces himself not to stare at his old partner’s young face as he comes closer with his hands spread for an embrace. 

This is right, this is how things are meant to be. They are alive, everything is fine.

And so Sam returns the gesture. His vision is slowly blinded by light and the last thing he registers is someone wrapping their arms around him, before he falls and there’s nothing to hold on to.

-

The beam of light spits him out. Immediately the calendar in his HUB opens up, showing the correct date. The year matches his last journal entry, and he was away for five minutes according to it.

Why is he thinking this? Why does he feel so tired? A pair of hands in front of him are covered by steel and green; he moves them and they move according to his commands. They are his. Where?

”The Temple of Desires.” A red alien hologram informs him. Santa. ”On Chorus.”

Chorus? The scenery around him does seem familiar. The memories are hard to dig up, each time they take a more precious one away.  
Sam tries to fight it. He isn’t supposed to be on Chorus. He’s needed back home, together with Isaac. How can the guests get inside if they aren’t home to open the door?

”The Temple of Desire is dangerous should a lesser mind stumble upon it,” Santa goes on, ”It’s visions are known to corrupt and drug when they become one’s reality.” 

Is the AI mocking him? The dream sequence vanishes the same way all his nightly ones do. The memories of warmth turn to dust even faster. The names he learnt, the apartment he owned, the hikes on mountains are all soon gone. Locus hears the native birds of Chorus sing instead of a busy city during its nightlife. 

Locus straightens his back. The world around him is dull. He should leave Chorus.

”The mission was waste of time.”

”Unfortunate. There are no shortcuts to know one's destiny.” 

”So the decision is mine.” Locus snaps, by now he’s familiar with the AI’s vague way of speaking. It's condescending, as if Locus already didn't know his dreams were unreachable.

His mentor hums before disappearing. It will be back. The AI is has a distinct MO. 

As Locus makes his way down the stairs of the temple, something is still nagging his nerves. It’s something he has forgotten. He checks the map, the armour log and the sword on his hip. His personal records haven’t been tampered with. His weapons are clean and ammunition is at ready. 

The calendar is his last resort. It’s still the same date and year. Out of a momentarily whim, he opens the daily notes section.

Today is his birthday.

**Author's Note:**

> I always have this weird feeling after I wake up from a nice dream. I Decided to torture Locus with it. 
> 
> It's cruel when reality pulls the rug from under your feet, isn’t it?


End file.
